


An unconditional love

by Merricup



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Agreste Is Sunshine, Alternate Universe - No Miraculous, Drama & Romance, F/M, Lesbian Kagami Tsurugi, Marinette Dupain-Cheng Needs a Hug, Partying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22882072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merricup/pseuds/Merricup
Summary: First, there is Marinette. On Instagram everything around her seems to be perfect; however, her sentimental life is only a chain of abominable failures.Then there is Adrien. Adrien who arrives in Marinette's daily life like an angel fallen from the sky, and who will turn her life upside down. For better and for worse.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	An unconditional love

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Un amour inconditionnel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21809050) by [Merricup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merricup/pseuds/Merricup). 



> At first, "An unconditional love" is one of my fanfictions composed of 7 chapters that you can find on my profile (but in french). I translated the chapter 3, one of my favorite I guess, but I didn't have time to translate every chapter so... One day, maybe ? For now it's just an one shot in english (but there is no spoiler of my fanfic, I promise)  
> I hope you'll enjoy it <3

You didn't count the glasses. Three, five, nine, it goes fast, the bottles follow one another, it heats in your head. You feel better, lighter, more cheerful – girls laugh more easily, the atmosphere is less tense than when you arrived.

Friendship and complicity which rest only on liters of alcoholic drinks, you find that terribly sad, Marinette. It is your melancholy side that re-emerges, your defective neurons because of the ethanol that you never stop consuming.

And the music comes back to your ears, you think you perceive a rhythm that you like, you get up and the cycle starts over again. You dance, you move, against Lila who is laughing loudly and soon Chloé joins you; your moods and your problems all forgotten.

Then, you don't really know how you got there. The women's toilets, where black and gold blend subtly; but you don't care about the decoration, however magnificent. 

You gauge your reflection in the huge mirror above the sinks, you try to adjust a few rebellious strands in your hairstyle yet defeated, to finally give up and remove everything, letting your hair fall gracefully on your shoulder blades.

"Marinette, Marinette!"

Lila enters like a whirlwind, even less sober than you, who holds a glass in each hand. She staggers towards you on her high heels – how does she manage to walk with that, drunk, without falling?

"I looked for you everywhere! What are you doing here ?!"

She speaks a little loudly, she puts her glasses without care on the edge of the sink, then she takes your hands in hers, all perky; so much that it becomes contagious, and now you laugh for nothing.

"Guess who's there!"

But you no longer laugh at all when you return to the main room on the first floor, filled with kids of the wealthy, children of the Parisian bourgeoisie of which you are not even part of, Marinette – by knowing him here, you are not amused anymore.

Luka.

He and his group of _stupid_ musicians, the urge to tear off his head takes you but you remain dignified as you can while the inconvenient cocktail of anger and alcohol starts to flow in your veins.

"I'm leaving," you whistle by letting go of Lila's hand which has guided you so far, then spinning towards the armchairs where you left your things.

"Marinette!"

"Marinette wait!"

You hear them calling you, but even if you did not ignore them, you absolutely could not say who is calling you like this across the room. Lila, no doubt, Luka, if he did spot you. It must be said that you are anything but discreet, just tense, with a heavy and direct tread while you are on the verge of losing your balance.

"Marinette please!"

You feel someone grab your hand as you collect your jacket and bag; you immediately free yourself from its grip and the fury awakens.

"Do not touch me!" you howl, almost hysterical, suddenly turning around.

Luka stares at you, sheepishly, both hands raised as a sign of peace. He's about to speak, surely to justify himself, to apologize, to convince you – of what? You don't know, you don't give a damn, Marinette – but you don't give him the time:

"Get out of my sight or I swear to you I will tear out your carotid."

Your voice is uncertain although thundering, yet your tone is firm, assured; in fact, it is the false determination that ethanol offers you that speaks.

Luka does not dare to reply instantly, and so much the better since that gives you time to turn around to reach the stairs. You are ready to ask the security guard not to let anyone follow you, but your brain is idling and by the time the idea germinates in your head, you are already on the ground floor.

You think you hear snippets of voices screaming your name, but soon the music covers any sound that can reach your already dysfunctional eardrums.

You find it difficult to go down the stairs with your shoes, you even have the impression of walking very slowly when you cross the much quieter hall – even if the walls are unable to block the incessant _boom-boom_ of the disco –, however no one catches up with you.

At least not before you find yourself outside, putting on your coat as best you can, the vise of heat that envelops your body breaking violently in the cold of the night.

"Marinette please, stop reacting like that. So that's it, every time we gonna meet somewhere, you are going to leave like a nut?"

Headache that interferes, incessant buzzing, disastrous mixture which causes an obvious absence of reason. No, you don't really think, Marinette, because when you look at Luka, you have only one desire; send him your fist in his nose and hear it break under your knuckles.

You're not violent, though.

_Of course you are not, it is he who provokes you._

"What have I done wrong? I thought we were on the same wavelength you and..."

"Oh please, spare me your... your bullshit," you spit, taking a step on the side to avoid falling backwards. "Fuck you, you piss me off."

It is not that you are short of arguments, it is rather that you do not have the mental strength required to think properly and to tell him some home truths in his face in a clear, clean and precise manner.

You know that with the number of glasses you have drunk, there is no way for you to win this already pretty pathetic argument like that.

No, you just want him to leave you alone, that's all.

"Seriously Mari', stop..."

"You!" you exclaim, pointing at him, enraged. "You, you stop giving me orders, and stop... calling me, coming to my house, I don't want to see you anymore, is that clear? Fuck off Luka!"

Like it's going to be enough for him to retreat, right? No, he's not dropping the case, Luka, he's never dropping the case - you want to kill him.

"Please..."

Now he is simpering, imploring you, here he is, playing the pathos card because, obviously, he knows it; you're an emotional sponge, Marinette. You end up giving way, always, all the time. You're pathetic, that's all.

And maybe he saw a breach in your face. Your eyebrows are frowned but your gaze is haggard, a thousand miles from reality. So he starts a gesture with his hand towards you, surely to catch yours, to make you stay, to prevent you from fleeing – because you never manage to flee.

But yes. Yes, this time, you have the guts to run away, Marinette. You can do it. You cannot let this opportunity to escape from its claws slip before your eyes.

"I said: fuck off," you say, releasing his hand with a sudden movement.

Behind him, you see silhouettes in the light of the hall, blonde hair, a red dress, Chloé, Lila – it jostles so hard in your head that you have the impression that it will explode.

You just want to run away.

So you don't wait any longer, without the slightest hesitation, you rush towards the road after clumsily checking that there were no cars. Unable to say if you are really running or if you are trotting with your unsuitable shoes, but you are doing what you can.

You go up the avenue as quickly as possible to reach the next metro station, ignoring the calls behind your back; because all of them are calling you, but none of them come to you.

_And so much the better._

***

Your heels click on the paving stones, your loose hair flies in the wind, your left hand maintains your coat closed under your chest – because, in the rush, you didn't bother to close it properly, obviously – and your right hand holds your purse hanging on your shoulder; and maybe, Marinette, you would look like a model while shooting a commercial for a luxury brand if you weren't so _drunk_.

People would say that the glow of the streetlights of the main Parisian avenues suits you strangely well. You would say that, too bad, the only light that you are looking for is the light of the metro entrance.

Finally you find it, and like a butterfly attracted by the lightbulb, you descend the stairs to go underground. There is not a cat in the cold hallways, and at this hour – you don't know what time it is right now, it's just late, that's all you can say –, you have to admit it is completely scary.

And then, because of the cold, the anger, the fear, you suddenly came down from your little cloud, Marinette. No more feeling of flutter and lightness, the hangover migraine already comes and your liver makes things even more difficult. What a disastrous end of evening.

Fortunately, you planned your card because you don't have a driver like Chloé or Kagami, and you don't have enough money on you to pay for a taxi like Lila. In truth you have not checked, but whatever, it's too late now.

And there you are on the subway platform. Alone.

You sigh as you pull your hair back, tilting your head with the same gesture; again, it makes you dizzy, and you have to get back to your original position immediately to avoid falling.

While waiting for the next tram, you start rummaging through your purse not without difficulty in search of your cell phone, in vain. No way to find that damn...

In your sudden fury, you drop an object from your bag – an object which is nothing but a tube of lipstick, which you barely have time to see rolling since it falls from the platform, thus disappearing on the rails.

"Fuck..." you mumble with your hoarse voice.

You think the alcohol has settled down to give you a semblance of lucidity, but you are wrong. Your brain is still cloudy, because you didn't think you were so close to the edge...

And then, even worse; now you have the good idea to come a little closer to get on your knees and extend your arm in the void, half the body leaning over the rails.

Your fingers brush against the lipstick tube, but there's no way to grab it. Come on, you're so close to get it back, a damn Chanel lipstick, you can't leave it there...

What follows is too fast for your brain to record all of the information.

First, you feel a skillful although firm grip pulling you back, then something passing at high speed in front of you, your hair whipping your face because of the breath caused by the machine.

You find yourself on the buttocks, completely disoriented, as long as, for several seconds, you do not feel the presence right behind you.

"Are you okay?"

The voice is breathless, genuinely worried, masculine, but above all familiar. Or maybe your imagination is distorted by ethanol molecules...

"Yeah I'm okay, I... thank you," you mumble, confused.

You feel movement near you - visibly, your savior also ended up on the ground since he got up, and barely standing, he hastens to hold out a hand to help you do the same. You finally straighten your head to meet his gaze, at least see what he looks like, and...

And two emeralds.

"Adrien?"

His lips immediately sketch a sweet smile as you finally catch his hand, finding yourself in turn on your legs, however, not very stable.

_Like a doe that struggles to stand on its feet._

"What are you doing here?"

Your voice lingers a little in your words, you are not yet fully recovered from your emotions - it's complicated after all, when you are in a state like yours.

"I saw you on the street alone, so I wanted to make sure everything was fine, and..."

"And you saved my life," you sigh, almost exasperated with yourself. "Or at least my head..."

He lets out a frank laugh that snatches a smile from you. Your eyesight is a little blurred, you realize it now that you are trying to stare at him; his facial features are much less clear, however, you perceive his eyes that you love so much as a lighthouse in the ocean.

"Come on, I'll call a taxi. It will be safer than the metro."

"No don't worry! I... I will..."

You don't know what you're actually going to do, Marinette, you're just telling anything. And then you do not know if it is the white light of the metro that gives you this effect, but the dizziness begins again, your stomach turns, your head makes you suffer and damn it, here is the nausea added to the party...

"Yes I insist, I really don't want to let you go alone in this state."

He's adorable, Adrien. You start to giggle like a kid, visibly disturbed that we can take care of you like he does while the girls who you call 'friends' have still not shown up to check if you are well.

Too bad, you don't care. You don't need them. You never needed them, or maybe you do, a few times, it depends.

Fuck. You may need them, actually.

***

"Thank you again Adrien," you mumble like a child, sprawled in the back seat of the taxi. "I think I would be dead by the time if you weren't there."

He seems to show an amused air while he assures you that it's nothing, that it's normal, something like that.

The car drives quietly through the dark and empty streets of Paris, but however you're not at your ease. Because you drank too much alcohol – no way to count the exact number of glasses and shots you swallowed – and on top of that, you ate nothing. Your liver is screaming its suffering in your guts, and the nausea has still not deigned to leave.

You are looking for a more comfortable position, not knowing if the journey will be long or not; you're not sober enough to find your way through the window. So here you are entirely turned to Adrien, seated by your side, your head resting on the backrest and your gaze fixed on him.

And he does not notice you, at first, observing the landscape which passes with a thoughtful air.

Your eyes follow the curve of his profile, his forehead, his nose, his lips, his chin, then you detail his blond hair, as if you were trying to remember the exact location of each of his golden strands.

Finally, you linger on the rest of his body, his black jacket that cuts his shoulders beautifully, his white t-shirt that brushes againt his chest, his jeans, and his hand too, casually placed on his thigh, on which you see a signet ring on its annular.

That said, after a few seconds, he ends up turning his head towards you, capturing your absent if not fascinated gaze, and you almost jump, like caught in the act, before you both exchange an embarrassed smile.

Now your heart is once again pounding – you don't need much, Marinette.

The city lights pass through the window, light up half of his face, make his eyes almost transparent, then the passenger compartment is plunged into darkness, and a second later, it starts again.

He doesn't look human, Adrien, under your not very lucid look. It seems to be made of materials all as precious as each other, green jewels and porcelain, liquid gold and silk - the urge to approach him suddenly takes you like an electroshock in your lower back.

Yet you stay still, Marinette. And you just look at each other, a bit like two fools, an emerging smile on your lips, soft silence that overwhelms you.

No, Adrien absolutely doesn't make you indifferent, you have to admit it, and you would be lying to yourself if you denied it.

But maybe you should take your time now – by trying to speed up, you end up spoiling everything, a wobbly relationship on your arms, like with Luka who did you more harm than good.

The car slows down and parks on the side, tearing you away from contemplating the handsome young man. Turning your head, you recognize your building, and almost disappointed that the journey is over, you straighten up correctly and snap the door handle.

"Hold on."

You stop short in your movement and, once again, you start to fix him while he turned towards you, his face showing an almost embarrassed air.

"It's... well, it's still good for next Saturday, isn't it?"

You smile, tenderized, and gently nod your head.

"Of course-"

But you don't have time to finish your sentence.

The door suddenly opens wide and you just have time to get your legs out of the cabin to catch up before falling miserably to the ground.

Your feet resting on the asphalt, your buttocks still on the seat, you raise your head towards the silhouette that stands in front of you, surprised if not sheepish, because in reality, this simple although expensive outfit, you recognized it before even looking at the head of its owner.

Kagami.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, I translated this on my own so I'm sorry if there is any mistake in the text ;;;  
> I hope you enjoyed reading it anyway, I take any return and correction if you want to make one!  
> Thank you <3


End file.
